Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights over the Magnificent 7 characters used in this story, which has been written for the joy of writing only (whether it be good writing or no) and for no other purpose (such as monetary gain). The Mag 7 characters/aspects of the story are owned by Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Group and MGM.

Special note: The graphic used is entitled: Morrigan's Requiem and I thank Jane Irwin for permission to use her work on this page. To see more of her great artwork, please visit her homepage at:

http://www.sidhe.org/gallery/old_jane_irwin.html

Warning: A Halloween story

"Listen to my story. Hear my words, for this is the Moon of the Telling. The night the spirits of the unjustly dead rise up to bemoan their fate and seek justice against those that slayed their earthly forms…"

The old storyteller sat on the floor of the saloon, in the center of a place cleared just for her. The floorboards were hard and cold on her old bones, but she'd felt much harder, much colder than this. This discomfiture was mild in comparison and she barely noticed it as she pulled the hood of her cape from her head. Her hair, once black and lustrous, now pure white and coarse, hung over her thin shoulders in stark contrast to her black flowing cape and clothes. The passage of time was etched deeply into her face, but her voice was strong as she spoke the words of the Telling.

"Reckon she's a witch, Buck?" JD whispered into his friend's ear.

"Naw, just' an old biddy earning a few coins by telling creepy stories on Halloween," he replied, trying to ignore the tingly feeling already running up and down his back.

"Sure looks like one," JD continued.

"Shush there, JD," Nathan interrupted. "We paid to hear the storyteller, not you."

"Yeah, we can hear you any time," Buck said, digging one elbow into the talkative young man's ribs.

Buck moved away to lean on the pole nearby. Inez had extinguished most of the lamps in the saloon, the few left throwing the faces gathered around the old woman into deep relief. From his new position Buck could see Ezra and Chris sitting at a table a few feet away. The faint light caught in the whisky glass as Chris raised it to his lips. Ezra silently shuffled cards, all his concentration on the woman.

Josiah sat on the floor, arms resting on his bent knees. One of the lit lamps was close by him and Buck could just make out the intent expression on the preacher's face as he listened. Beside him, Vin had turned a chair around backwards and sat with one elbow on its back – his head resting in his hand. Vin's hat was pushed back off his head and his eyes caught the light flickering from the lamp. To Buck they looked to be glowing - he shuddered involuntarily and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. JD had finally gotten the hint and stopped talking so Buck listened again to the story being told.

"Tonight, is the Eve of Samhain ….."

The woman paused to reach under her cape and bring forth a small cloth bundle wrapped tightly with a black satin ribbon. The ribbon fell off the bundle with one tug and the woman pulled the folds of black cloth aside to reveal a loaf of bread and a leather-covered flask. The outline of a design carved into the leather was barely discernible in the dim room, but Josiah thought he could see faces – mouths drawn back in raging, terrified screams. He dragged his eyes from the flask and watched the woman break the loaf apart. Her words droned on, all eyes were fixed on her actions.

She spread the cloth out in front of her - the loaf, ripped to pieces, in its center. She opened the flask and tipped a few drops of dark liquid onto the bread then poured some over her hand. The liquid ran red like blood over her fingers and dripped to the floor. She sprinkled the liquid around her – muttering ancient words with every movement, as she called to the spirits to join her for the Feast of the Dead.

A single red drop of the liquid landed on Vin's boot. He could feel it quickly spread and soak into the scuffed leather. His foot squirmed inside the boot and grew hot. The sole of his foot throbbed and burned as if he'd just walked across a bed of hot coals. He blinked his eyes and shuffled his feet under the chair – the burning slowly fading to a mere tingle.

A sudden gasp rippled around the room as fire abruptly filled the hand stained with the red liquid. As the liquid sizzled and evaporated from her fingers, the woman whispered, "Accept our burnt sacrifice. We welcome you to partake thereof." The flame burst from her hand and shot straight up to the ceiling, piercing the structure like a needle through cloth to shoot ever upward into the night sky. Outside, the distant rolling of thunder and the flash of lightning seemed to answer the old woman's call.

The fire died just as quickly, the power sapping back into the woman until she glowed. She spread her hands out wide and closed her eyes. Feeling the attention of all upon her she continued on with the Telling.

"The slaughter of innocents is nothing new in the history of humanity. Many have died in the past and many will in the future for nothing more than a handful of silver, a plot of dusty land, a false cloak of power ..."

Her voice was soft but carried throughout the room, settling on the listeners, preparing them ….

"One night, on an island kingdom – worlds away from where we now sit, a plan was conceived to protect the birthright of a kingly line. Months before, a mysterious woman - dressed all in black, with hair the color of the Raven and eyes of jet – arrived at this island. She was welcomed into the palace as a friend of the Queen and stayed for many weeks. However, it was not long before jealous tongues sent rumors of midnight worship and ceremonies, tales of wrongdoing and mistrust running around the palace. The Queen and the woman were as close as sisters born from the same womb but when the King heard the rumours his own jealousy grew. Until one night in a fit of rage and frustration, he had his guards take the woman to the castle's highest battlements overlooking the island cliffs and seas below……. Rain slashed through the night drenching anyone who ventured out to the skin within minutes. The woman fought against her captors all the way – screaming for her gods to save her, calling for the Queen to stop what was surely about to happen. The Queen, locked in her turret room, watched the dreadful proceedings below her. Tears streamed down her face, grief burned into her soul."

Mary Travis felt her hand lift to her face to touch her lips as overwhelming sadness descended upon her and a sob caught in her throat. The storm approaching Four Corners twisted and turned its way ever closer. Low growls of thunder slowly forming into furious roars.

Abruptly, all was quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the woman's low voice and the soft breathing of her audience.

"As the group reached the battlement, the brewing storm ceased its raging. All around the island, the lightening flashed sending sizzling bolts of pure energy to light up the ocean below. Monstrous waves pounded against the cliffs sending their spray hundreds of feet into the sky. The woman twisted away from the iron grip of the guardsmen and turned to face her murderers. Her hair and clothes were plastered to her body from the heavy rain, her face was the color of alabaster as she laughed in their faces……. The men stood in a ring around her as if frozen in a grotesque tragedy. The watching Queen felt her heart pound in her chest as the scene unfolded before her. The woman broke from the men to quickly climb atop the outer battlements. She stood above them, arms outstretched, her black cape flapping wildly about her in the renewed strength of the wind…"

The wind outside the saloon howled a bitter cry as it tore down the street and around the buildings of the town. The people in the saloon jumped at the eerie sound. More than one growing a little wild-eyed as the wind found its way into the room – lifting curtains, swirling dust, pulling on coats and skirts as it moved to slowly encircle the old woman. Her cloak shifted slightly in the breeze, her hair pulled from its clasp.

Josiah focussed on the glow that seemed to emanate from the woman and the emotion in her voice as she spoke her words. He noticed a subtle change in the air around her, a blurring of her features. He blinked hard, the blurring seemed to recede and he thought, perhaps it was his eyes after all.

Nathan could feel the chill in the air grow hard and brittle as he listened. His breath grew cold in his lungs as he forced it out, then in - and out again. His throat was beginning to burn and he longed for some water to ease it but didn't dare move for fear of disturbing the … He didn't know what he might disturb but he could feel something, sense someone moving with the wind around the room.

JD was horrified at what he knew must be coming. Not wanting to hear but not wanting to not hear the words the woman would utter next, he sat mesmerised. Chris looked around at his friends, all entranced by the woman and her story. Even Ezra, hands still shuffling, sat with intent eyes watching the woman's every movement. Chris had felt that familiar pain in his heart when the woman spoke of the slaughter of innocents, he wasn't all that sure he wanted to hear the rest of the story, but - like JD – he couldn't not hear either.

It seemed to Ezra that the woman's hands moved with such grace and ability that the story could almost be told by them alone – and she was so good. Why with her ….. Ezra's hands stopped moving, his thoughts stilled as the woman rose to her feet, her arms stretching out – palms upwards, hands partially cupped. Her old fingers were like claws reaching out to those around her – her voice began to rise.

"… and the woman stood straight and tall against the wind and the rain. Above her the clouds opened up to show the moon rising above their heads, above the world. The orb glowed orange against the black sky, the clouds were as if on fire. The woman's laughing voice rent the air, filling all those who listened with bone-jarring terror."

Vin sucked in his breath as he saw the old woman change before his startled eyes. The age-bent back straightened, the gnarled hands grew soft, the white hair darkened, and the face … The wizened lines faded away and the dark eyes shimmered with unearthly light.

She raised her head upwards, her pale lips parting once more as she spoke the words of the doomed woman from so long ago. Her voice rose to a shriek as she struggled to be heard over the renewed fury of the storm outside.

"Cursed is the bloodline of all those who seek my life this night …."

Her voice lowered slightly and she stared straight ahead, one hand moved up to point ominously in front of her. Buck felt the blood drain from his face as he found himself directly in line with the pointing hand. His mouth dropped open in shock and he quickly ducked away.

"In nine months hence, will thy Queen give birth. But let it be known that no son born of your seed that night will live to be King. Another shall take his place as ruler of this island and more."

The storyteller's arms dropped to her sides and the vision of the raven-haired woman faded away to reveal the old woman's features once more.

"The doomed woman lifted her eyes to the turret where the Queen stood, powerless to prevent the death of her friend … 'And also let it be known that no man rules the woman that listens to her soul, nor can she be overcome.' …… The King roared in fury and drew his sword."

The storyteller mimicked the action with such fervour that all those close to where she stood flinched visibly away from the imaginary sword she wielded. Vin could have sworn he saw the glint of cold steel in her grip, heard it as it pulled from its scabbard.

"Die foul witch – the King screamed – die on the blade of my sword!"

The voice dropped so low that all in the room had to strain to listen then grew in strength and urgency as the words tumbled from the old woman's lips.

"The King drove the blade forward, it hit bone and was deflected to bury deep in the woman's womb. Her blood flowed down the length of the blade and washed over the King's hands. It dripped from the hilt to form a pool at his feet. The woman sang out her curses as she threw herself backward to slide off the King's sword and fall into the ocean below. The echo of her cries rose up on the wind to the dark turret where the Queen lay on the cold stone floor, her body curled up into a protective ball, her hands over her womb where the seeds of prophecy lay."

The storyteller sank back to the ground in silence, her head bowed low.

"Nine months later, one week before Samhain, the Queen was brought to her birthing. Over the next few days, the King and his advisers, in all their wisdom, decided to ensure that no other 'son' born that night, or in the week previous and hence, would be allowed to live to take the throne. On the Eve of Samhain, the King's men gathered all sons born within the time so deemed by the King and took them to a secret cave deep under the castle. The cave opened to the ocean directly under the highest battlements. The innocent babes were slaughtered there by the King's chief adviser, their bodies cast into the surging ocean."

The room was deathly quiet, only a sob here and there, and the sound of ragged breathing tempered the stillness that enveloped the saloon as the woman spoke her final words.

Outside, the storm reached new heights of fury as nature seemed to rebel against the atrocities of man. A blast of cold air blew into the room accompanied by an eerie wail of despair and regret.

"Tonight the spirits of the slaughtered innocents down through the ages come back to seek their justice and take their leave of the living."

The woman's voice was a whisper as the wind howled bringing the cries of all those that had died unjustly to the ears of the people grouped inside the saloon that night. An eldritch light grew around the woman then. A light that shifted and changed – at one time showing a newborn babe crying for its mother, another time showing a woman falling from a castle wall, and then changing again to show other children, other women, men.

Chris Larabee pulled back from the vision of his own lost family drifting towards him, the pain on their faces as fire consumed them changed to love and grief as they departed this world. The spirits of the dead rose from the center of the room, their wails reaching a crescendo of pain as the tortured souls made their escape through the open windows and door, leaving behind myriad trails of frigid air.

A final horrendous clap of thunder boomed and a brilliant display of lightening lit up the night sky before the storm gradually moved away from the town taking the spectral sounds and visions to continue their feast elsewhere.

The old storyteller sat in the centre of the room, chest heaving and a fine sheen of sweat on her brow. Josiah broke the stillness by moving forward to take the woman's hand. All around them people started to move and murmur their amazement of the night's events. Only three men remained unmoving. The woman continued to sit, waiting for the still unspoken questions.

Inez was walking around the room relighting the lamps when Chris spoke at last.

"What happened to the King's son?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. The room was once again plunged into silence as the people waited for the woman's answer.

"On the night of his birth a fierce bolt of lightening struck the battlement where the King had committed his foul deed, rendering it unstable – a smoking ruin. As the child grew he often played there for hours on end not knowing the events that had occurred in that terrible spot. In his twelfth year, on the Eve of Samhain, the boy was playing there as usual when a sudden tremor shook the island. A section of the ruined battlement was dislodged and fell into the ocean. The boy fell to his death on the rocks below. The King was never the same after the loss of his son. His grief and guilt crippled him. The Queen took over the Kingdom as Regent."

The old woman stood to gather her things and wrap her cape back around her frail body. As she made her way to the door Buck asked, "So she became the ruler then?"

She turned back to the tall man who had spoken, "The Queen held power for eight years, until her daughter came of age. On her daughter's 20^th birthday, the lonely Queen handed over rulership to the rightful heir and left the island."

The storyteller pulled the hood of her cape over her head and had one hand ready to push open the batwing doors when the final question came.

Vin stepped closer to the woman, his voice low and husky, "And the doomed woman?"

The hooded figure turned back to face the young man, her face hidden, "Why she turned herself into a Raven and flew away – never to be heard of again."

With that, the woman limped through the doorway and out onto the street. Vin followed her, watching as she slowly tottered down the street. At the edge of town she stopped and turned back to face him once more. A gust of wind whirled around her blowing against the cape and pulling the hood from her head. Her hair whipped out, its tresses dancing fiercely around her. His sharp eyes widened in surprise as she stood laughing, enveloped in a cloud of raven-black hair and flowing black cape.

A bolt of lightening coursed its way down to the dusty street in between them, exploding in a dazzling display of light. When the dust had cleared, and Vin's eyes could once more see past the bright light, the woman was gone. He shook his head in disbelief and, hands on hips, turned back to the saloon. As he climbed the step a jet-black raven landed on the railing beside him. He looked once at the bird before re-entering the saloon.

The cawing of the raven as it took flight and winged its way through the town sounded like a woman's laughter to all who heard.

THE END

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